The Truth
by Duck Life
Summary: He just couldn't lie to her, even if telling the truth meant putting himself in danger. Ryan/Jenny. Oneshot. Set during 3x13. Please R&R!


**A/N: Speculation/spoilers after seeing the stills for "Knockdown." And we really need more Ryan/Jenny fics on here. **

Being a cop was dangerous, and Ryan had known that from the start. He'd just always seen the police as superheroes, untouchable and invincible. Becoming one had made him realize how wrong he was, that being in the NYPD made him even more vulnerable than being a civilian had. This was the first time he had ever been held captive like this, though, and he had to admit that he was scared. He'd always had back-up to call, Beckett behind him, a gun to whip out and intimidate whomever was trying to hurt him. This time was different. It was bad opportunity, it was bad luck, and now he'd been on his knees with his hands tied behind his back much longer than he should have been.

This was so much worse than the incident with the Triple Killer a few months back. That had been quick and painful. This was painful in a different way, tense and built on anticipation. His captors were tricky, cruel, and they made him feel like he would be luckier if they just killed him outright. They were toying with him and his partner, torturing them. It made him feel so weak. The whole situation just disgusted him.

He could tell that Esposito was afraid, too, but he was doing a good job of hiding it, kneeling there and staring their assailant right in the eye. Having his best friend right there next to him was somewhat of a comfort, but he would have felt much better going through this alone at the moment, knowing that at any moment Esposito was about to bust through the door with a slew of fellow cops.

Of course, it was Ryan's cell phone that had to ring, Jenny's personalized Sara Bareilles ringtone floating out of the pocket of the man standing in front of them (he had snatched their phones earlier.) The man pulled the phone out and stared at it annoyingly.

"Just let me talk to her," Ryan begged. "She'll know something's up if I don't answer." The man holding his cell phone barked one harsh laugh that sounded like a cough.

"Like I'm supposed to believe that," he snorted. "You'd just let this go to voicemail if you weren't trying to tip her off."

"He wouldn't," Esposito spoke up. "Trust me. It's annoying as hell." The man frowned for a moment, then put the phone on speaker and held it in front of Ryan's face.

"Not a word," he mouthed.

"Kevin?" Her voice sounded choppy and static-filled emitting from the phone's speakers, but it was her voice alright. Just hearing it sent waves of relief through his body.

"Hey, Jenny," he breathed. Despite his captive situation, the stress melted from his shoulders and he leaned closer to the phone as if it radiated some kind of sustaining life force.

"Just wanted to let you know, I picked up chicken for dinner," she said. "I was thinking about having it with broccoli. Does that sound good?"

"That sounds amazing," he said, his stomach clenching at the thought of discussing a meal he might never make it home to eat.

"Work going okay?" she asked interestedly. There again was one of the many reasons he loved her. She rarely called him with a point to make or something important to tell him. Sometimes she called just to talk about meaningless things, even for just a minute, just so they could hear each other's voice.

"Same old, same old," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Okay," she said. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

"Esposito and I are being held in a warehouse on fifth!" he blurted out, unable to help himself. "Iloveyousomuch." The man dropped the cell phone on the dusty cement ground and stamped down on it. Immediately, it cracked irreparably and disconnected. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that that was two phones he'd lost in the past three months.

Furious, the man reached around and grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head. Before he knew what was happening, he was underwater, submerged in the icy water of the tub in front of him. It was black, and frigid, and the man held him under for far too long. When he was finally forced back up, he gasped for air, the cold water droplets quickly dripping down his face. He could tell that his vest and shirt were completely soaked through.

He was uncomfortable, but still a little satisfied that he had managed to slip in the last five words to Jenny before his phone was destroyed. He liked to think that in just a moment, Beckett would run in with her gun out and the rest of their team would descend on the place, that a happy ending was promised, and it was important that he hang onto that belief. The reality was, though, that he was more than aware of the entirely likely possibility that he might never speak to his fiancée again, and if that possibility played out, he was glad that his last words to her had been "I love you so much." That the last thing she would ever hear him say was nothing but the truth. If he got out of there alive, he would run home and hold her and tell her how lucky he was to have her. And if he didn't… well, it was probably something she already knew.


End file.
